


Liaison

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:26:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Legolas visits Lothlórien and comes across its sentries.





	Liaison

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for DrowPrince’s “#2! Trans!Legolas is newly of age and visiting Lothlorien for the first time, Haldir and his brothers are eager to show him a good time” [request](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/205097462).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The trees, when he reaches them, are a more than welcome sight, though they’re different than the kind he knows—tall and slim and so orderly, not like the gnarled, wild roots of his home. But they’re beautiful in their own right, and just what he wanted to see. When Legolas first steps into Lothlórien, his breath is taken away.

Not for the first time on his journey, he almost wishes he had company. The mallyrn trees are so strange, yet so endearing, that he wants to ponder them, to compliment them, to muse over the difference with another of his kind. Then he reins that in and reminds himself of why he came alone. He’s of age now, old enough to do all that he will by himself—he no longer need be a pampered prince under his father’s watchful eye. He doesn’t want guards, or anyone that will share his father’s haughty views of the world. He wants to explore new land like any other, and be greeted on his merits alone. Still, the journey’s been a lonely one. And Legolas has grown out of brooding over the bitterness of empty nights. The night is falling now, but the starlight isn’t fully at its peak, and Legolas thinks that if he hurries, there might still be time to find an Elven home before he has to sleep. 

In the darkened evening sky, Lothlórien seems magical in every bough and leaf. Legolas hurries, but not so much that he can’t appreciate the flowers all around him. The healing waters of Nimrodel still sing in the distance, and he keeps his footsteps particularly quiet to allow that song to shine. This is how he wants to experience the world: no envoy sent ahead to boast of a title the southern woods may not even recognize, but just himself in the raw glory of the wild.

It isn’t until a twig snaps above him, unaccompanied by the twitter of a bird, that Legolas realizes he’s not alone. The sound startles him at first, and his footsteps falter, his face tilting up to peer through the canopy of golden leaves. He can’t spy a thing, which is saying something, because for all his youth, he’s trained hard, and he’s as good a bowman as any in his father’s guard. But the only movement is that of a stray squirrel, and he can’t pick out any flesh or fabric amongst the foliage. Still, he suddenly has the distinct feeling of being _watched_. It would send a shiver down his spine, if he weren’t so confident that it must be another elf. A man or dwarf couldn’t melt into the trees enough to fool his Elven eyes, and surely no orc could cross Nimrodel.

After a long pause, Legolas decides to continue on, though he says loud enough to carry, “Come out, please. I know you are there.” It doesn’t work, of course, nor does he expect it to—the Greenwood’s sentries would never reveal themselves before their choosing. But it seemed worth the chance, as half the reason for his journey is to meet other elves, and enjoy them as one soldier might enjoy another. 

He walks for some time after that, but now his gaze is honed and piercing, a purpose in his step. He scans every tree he passes, hyper-aware of every little movement yet wholly aware that he must be missing far more than he sees. He knew the elves of his land would be talented in their own right, despite his father’s dismissal of everything beyond their borders. This confirms Legolas’ suspicions and hope. The skill needs to be greater here too, as the trees don’t offer the looming branches and ever-present shadows of the Woodland Realm. He’s dealing with masters indeed.

And eventually he catches another glimpse of them—a small slit of wood through a tight cluster of trunks that doesn’t look _quite_ natural. It’s incredibly high up, and Legolas could well be wrong, but even if he isn’t, he’ll soon need a place to sleep, and the thick tree looks as good a place to rest as any. He’s sure he can find a nice nook to curl up in, if not a treetop home like his own people still sing about in songs. 

Legolas has barely set one hand on the tree when the leaves above him rustle. He looks up, then leaps away from the trunk, and just in time—a trim ladder made of silver rope unfurls right before him, falling smoothly towards the ground. The knotted ends just barely brush the grass below, and despite its leanness, it lies still against the tree, untroubled by the breeze. The material itself intrigues Legolas, but more so the promise at the top. He mounts it swiftly, finds it sturdier than any wood, and climbs it with exuberance.

When he reaches the top, a wooden platform is waiting for him—a talan, if he remembers the word right. Another elf sits square in the middle of it, and Legolas instantly comes to join him.

The elf is tall, and strong—perhaps a little broader than what Legolas is used to, well-defined and sharp—his jaw is almost square, his eyes piercing. But he holds the softness of their kind and reflects the golden beauty of his woods. Long, yellow hair runs smoothly down his shoulders, held back in two tiny braids. He’s distinctly _handsome_ , more so even than Legolas had hoped for. 

With a dip of his head, Legolas speaks first with a polite, “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” the elf returns, dipping his head as well. 

Legolas straightens to continue, “But why did you not make your presence known earlier? I think you have followed me for some time.”

“I have, and I did—I let one step fall heavy to see if you would hear it. One traveler alone is an odd occurrence in these times, and I wished to check how sharp your senses were.”

“Sharp enough, I hope,” Legolas answers, relieved now that he passed the silent test, though disappointed he didn’t catch any other signs until the talan. “But once I called to you, why not answer?”

A smile curls the elf’s bow lips. “You looked so serene; I did not wish to interrupt that loveliness.”

A lilting laugh spills out of Legolas’ throat. He senses the complement in the other’s appreciation of him, and he feels flattered for it, pleased that he’s worth watching even without the knowledge of his father. Eager to return the interest, he asks, “And who do I have the pleasure of meeting now?”

“Haldir,” the elf tells him. “And your name in return?”

Legolas hesitates, pausing to judge the way this Haldir looks at him. There’s certainly _something_ there, something he can enjoy before this becomes more formal than it needs to. He tries in his sweetest voice, “Is that necessary at the moment?”

Quirking one gold-brown brow, Haldir answers, “It is if you wish to go forward in Lothlórien.” 

Legolas expected as much. But northern wood elves don’t give up so easily, and he coyly offers, “Perhaps, if you were willing, I could prove my good intent and worth without any needless information.”

Haldir’s other brow rises. His lips twitch, a broader grin clearly being restrained. Legolas’ unspoken suggestion must be obvious, because Haldir warns him, “You play with dangerous notions.”

Legolas doesn’t hold back his grin at all. He softly informs his host, “I came here for the pleasure of experience, and where I come from, such experiences are not unusual.” He neglects to add that they would be unusual for a prince. Otherwise, the Woodland Realm is a free place, and Legolas knows many friends who wouldn’t hesitate to ask to share Haldir’s cot for the night. 

Somehow, he’d thought southern elves would be more difficult, that it might take a bit of work to seduce one into the company he craves. But Haldir shifts forward, enough that his knees nudge against Legolas’, and his hand reaches out to land on Legolas’ thigh. It’s large and _warm_ —Legolas can feel its touch acutely through his tights. Haldir murmurs, “I will admit that another reason I did not disturb you is because I so enjoyed just looking at you—I am sure you know you are quite beautiful.”

Legolas has been told so on more than one occasion, and yet: “I still like to hear it.”

“Then I will tell you: you are as handsome a creature as I have ever seen, and I have seen the lord and lady of these woods.”

The gravity of that complement isn’t lost on Legolas. He rewards Haldir for it by taking the first step—leaning forward to close the distance between them. He brushes his lips over Haldir’s, and Haldir’s only still for a second or two before pressing back into him. Haldir’s mouth is soft, his kiss too chaste, but then his hand slides farther up Legolas’ thigh, and his tongue slips out to pry between Legolas’ lips. Legolas opens right up, greedily welcoming him inside. From there, Haldir is unleashed; he surges into Legolas with refreshing force.

Legolas isn’t any more innocent. While Haldir palms his thighs, he wraps his arms around Haldir’s shoulders, hands hungrily mapping out Haldir’s broad frame. He can feel the rippling muscles under Haldir’s cloak, and when he deftly unfastens Haldir’s bow, Haldir allows him to remove it. Legolas parts them quickly enough to dispel his own weapons—both set bows and arrows aside, then come together again in even fiercer embrace. Free of those obstacles, Legolas can roam Haldir’s body unimpeded, and he does so—Haldir doesn’t stop him from touching all down Haldir’s chiseled sides and reaching back to cup his rear. One of Haldir’s hands presses between Legolas’ legs, and Legolas mewls and bucks into it, urging Haldir forward. 

It isn’t long before it escalates. One moment they’re all tongues and teeth, and the next, Haldir’s hands are under Legolas’ tunic and tights, grazing along his inner thighs and gliding back around them. When Haldir withdraws and pauses their string of kisses to all but shove two fingers into Legolas’ mouth, he sucks them right in, because he knows exactly where this is going. He licks them so thoroughly that they leave his mouth dripping wet, and Haldir murmurs before his next kiss, “Valar, you are beautiful.”

“I am no Vala,” Legolas laughs, then kisses harder, leaving no room for breath. Haldir’s hand returns to the inside of his tights, and one pries his cheeks apart while the other glides between. 

Haldir rasps his warning, “We are coming close to no return—”

But Legolas only urges, “Keep going.” This is _exactly_ what he wanted. Then Haldir’s blunt fingertip is breaching him, and he loses himself in a languid moan. 

Though it must be clear that Legolas can handle things more than a little _rough_ —he made it all the way here all on his own, after all, and he has no qualms about enjoying the first other elf he sees—Haldir is startlingly gentle. His finger presses inside only in slow spurts, constantly squirming about to try and widen Legolas’ entrance, stroking his inner walls as it goes. Legolas tries to relax and manages, for the most part, because the rest of him is too pleased to be tense. Haldir shifts against him and kisses him back in all the best of ways. By the time that Haldir is adding a second finger, Legolas is ready to beg to just begin. 

He doesn’t get the chance. Before he can make his plea, another elf enters his vision. It’s a surprise, but it’s also no wonder that he didn’t hear anyone coming; he’s gotten so caught up in Haldir. Haldir doesn’t seem at all put off by the appearance of the other elf, who looks incredibly similar to him—tall, blond, quite handsome. “I apologize for interrupting,” the elf notes, once Legolas has turned away from Haldir in favour of blinking curiously up at him. “But I heard noises, and my brother did not warn me off...”

“My brother, Rúmil,” Haldir informs Legolas, whilst ducking in to nip at Legolas’ neck. Legolas shudders and tilts away, allowing Haldir more room. Haldir’s fingers haven’t left him, and Legolas doesn’t ask for them to. Haldir scrapes a bruising kiss along Legolas’ throat, then promises, “He will leave, if you wish it.”

Legolas hadn’t even thought of sending the other elf away. This is the stuff of his greatest fantasies, to be taken by not only one exotic sentry, but _two_ , and both lovely to look at on top of it. Legolas informs Rúmil in no uncertain terms, “You need not leave; I say the more the merrier.”

A smile lifts Rúmil’s lips. Haldir chuckles against him, “What an amazing treat you are, my friend.” Legolas chuckles his thanks and reaches out one hand for Rúmil.

To his delight, Rúmil nods and kneels down, moving behind Legolas. Haldir withdraws his fingers, which has Legolas whining in protest, but a moment later, a new set is sliding into him—Rúmil’s slick digits. They slot in to fill the same space as Haldir’s, fitting perfectly, and they begin to gently thrust in and out just as Haldir had been doing. Rúmil’s thighs spread wide around Legolas’ sides, his body shuffling up close enough that Legolas can feel the heat of his chest. Leaning back onto Rúmil’s shoulder, Legolas croons, “I am more than open enough.”

“You must not have seen yet what you are working with,” Rúmil answers, bestowing a kiss to Legolas’ forehead, unable to quite reach Legolas’ lips. “For I am every bit as sizable as him.”

Legolas can’t help the dirty grin that takes over his face. He hopes that isn’t just idle bragging, and he allows Rúmil to press a third finger inside him. When he returns his gaze to Haldir, he finds Haldir’s eyes focused on his crotch, and he spreads his legs as wide as he can to accommodate. Haldir makes no comment on the configuration, just dives into his tights again, pressing in to feel the heat of Legolas’ slit. Legolas huskily tells him, “I am quite wet and open there—I do not know if I have ever been so ready in my life.”

“You have been taken before, then,” Haldir comments, stroking Legolas lazily, which only makes Legolas shudder with more _want_ , dribbling onto Haldir’s fingers and flexing open. “Have you been taken from behind, I wonder...?”

Legolas has and promises, “I can handle it.”

Rúmil’s head appears over his shoulder, and Rúmil’s deep voice purrs into his ear, “But have you ever been taken in all your holes at once?”

Legolas has never had two elves at once, and the thought of it alone thrills him, the dual sensations on both sides taking him to new heights. But it takes him a second to realize Rúmil’s wording, and he repeats, “‘All’?”

“We have another brother still,” Haldir chuckles, “And I think he will like your pretty mouth very much.”

Legolas moans and nods, showing his support—he hadn’t even dared to dream of _three_ lovers at once, let alone of this caliber. By the time Haldir is unfastening his breeches, Legolas is aching for it. But Rúmil is the one to nudge against him first; he feels all three fingers pull out of him, and a round, spongy thing press against his brim. A deep breath from both of them, and Rúmil dares to thrust inside—just the tip at first, but enough to have Legolas crying out and clinging tight to Haldir’s shoulders. Rúmil makes a hushing noise like soothing a horse, then begins to slide steadily deeper.

Haldir holds onto him. Haldir pets his hair and kisses his throat, his chin, his mouth, distracting Legolas from the odd sensation of being opened up. He’s becoming overheated, though his clothes are light, with the warmth of both elves on either side of him. Rúmil makes it worse by looping one arm around Legolas’ middle to drag him back. But Legolas _wants_ it and forces his quivering body still, forces his tight muscles to relax, and welcomes Rúmil inside. Rúmil is gentle with him. And Haldir is patient—he waits until Rúmil gasps, “ _Yes_ ,” before he starts to move.

Rúmil must have bottomed-out, because when he stops, Legolas feels so thoroughly _full_ that there can’t be any room left. Yet Haldir pries him open, fondling his outer lips and inner walls, stroking him until he’s choked out, “Haldir, please—”

“Shh,” Rúmil murmurs, prying at Legolas’ tunic to kiss the skin of his bare shoulder. “We will take you right. Allow him this preparation...”

But Legolas _needs_ it and almost growls the order to _fuck him right now._ He holds back just in time; such behaviour is unbecoming, even in the midst of sex. Haldir grins like he sees Legolas’ struggle and sympathizes. He kisses the corner of Legolas’ mouth and presses the tip of his flushed cock against Legolas’ entrance. Between the shadows of their bodies, the dim colours of the night, and the obstruction of Haldir’s hand, Legolas can’t see much of Haldir’s cock, but he hopes to stay long enough in Lothlórien to have other occasions to stare. Perhaps they will even have another round in the morning, and then there will be time to undress and lie with one another properly. He hopes for a good many things to happen with these two—or three.

The sensation of being filled on both ends isn’t like anything Legolas has ever experienced. It’s a brilliant, wild stretch that makes him feel so thoroughly _used_ in all the best of ways. He luxuriates in every second as Haldir slides steadily deeper, Rúmil waiting patiently still. It occurs to Legolas that this can’t be the first time the two of them have shared a lover, which doesn’t at all discourage him. He hopes they do so again, preferably with him, even if it means them coming up to the Greenwood on the next occasion.

When Haldir has buried himself to the hilt in Legolas’ body, Legolas has nothing left. He’s almost shaking, overwhelmed with the feeling, and then Haldir pulls back and thrusts forward, and the jolt ricochets right up Legolas’ spine. He cries out again, buckling forward, and hides his face in Haldir’s shoulder as Haldir gives him another. Then Rúmil follows suit, sliding out only to thrust back, and then two of them being to work in tandem, jostling Legolas back and forth. Each thrust is slight at first, but they become longer, deeper on every one, and faster, until they’re pounding into Legolas with fervour, and it’s all Legolas can do to keep himself from spiraling over the edge too soon.

He only manages to lift his head again when Haldir guides him to do so, one hand fisted in his hair and the other tight around his waist. Rúmil is touching him all over; he can feel both hands roaming him and ducking beneath his clothes. Both seem to know exactly what they’re doing; Rúmil manages to hit the right spot every time, sending quick bursts of pleasure all over Legolas, and Haldir only compounds it, setting off more miniature explosions. Legolas is riddled with heat and ecstasy. He can’t help writhing on their cocks, can’t help wantonly trying to thrust back into them, though his brain’s confused on whose cock to pursue, and he has no control anyway—the two of them do it for him. It’s so unbelievably _good_ that Legolas hits his peak in a sudden, torrential avalanche that has him seeing stars and _screaming_. He arches up, squelching wetly around Haldir’s cock, and groans brokenly as he comes down.

Neither of them stops. Legolas knows they’ve yet to empty themselves inside him, and he _wants_ that, enough so that he clings on to the feeling—or maybe they’re clinging on for him, the continued sensations refusing to let his interest wilt. They fuck him right through his orgasm and start to rekindle his desire immediately. He doesn’t mourn the missing down time. He wants to come as many times as he can, and if anyone can give it to him, he thinks it’s these two.

He’s so dizzy in his warped afterglow that he doesn’t notice the next guest until they’re standing right over him. Legolas tiredly lets his head fall back onto Rúmil’s shoulder, glassy eyes peering up at the newcomer—another blond not unlike the other two. This time, Haldir doesn’t bother with introductions, just tells the elf, “Join us, Orophin. This beauty still has some left in him to give.” Legolas dons a lazy smile to confirm the offer. Orophin looks down at him in surprise, then quickly blooming lust. The brothers exchange a few more words, quicker, and low, too much for Legolas to follow in his state. He just waits until Orophin is unbuckling his breaches and freeing his cock, which looks just as long and thick as Haldir and Rúmil’s feel.

Legolas doesn’t have to be told what to do. His own hunger guides him—he leans forward, as much as his trapped position allows, and opens wide to press his mouth against the side of Orophin’s flaccid cock. It twitches against his tongue, and he licks it, shifting down it, wetting it everywhere and giddily nuzzling into it, until it starts to stiffen against his face. Haldir and Rúmil keep up their steady rhythm all throughout it, never faltering. Legolas thinks he could get used to that. He tries to keep an eye on Orophin’s face, because Orophin is every bit as pretty as his brothers, and Legolas likes to see the pleasure he’s providing. But he just doesn’t have the coordination and wherewithal to keep it up long, and he winds up just staring blankly into Orophin’s crotch as he lavishes the enormous cock before him.

He waits until it’s fully stiff before he comes to the tip, where he licks the leaking slit a few times before opening up. As soon as he takes the head onto his tongue, Orophin is moaning and arching forward. Legolas takes that as encouragement and takes more into his mouth, pressing forward as much as he can. It takes several tries, because Orophin is quite large and Haldir and Rúmil make it impossible to concentrate, but he manages to take it nearly to the base, entirely plugging up his throat. Orophin reaches down to pet his hair in thanks. But Legolas can’t manage the rest, and so he’s relieved when Orophin does it for him, holding him in place by the hair and thrusting forward into his open mouth. He only chokes once or twice, Orophin pausing each time, and otherwise remains lax while Orophin fucks him. It makes the drool bubble up in his mouth and dribble out the sides, but none of his hosts seem to mind his mess. They fuck him relentlessly right through it, even taking his hands and guiding him to the right places—Orophin’s sac and Haldir’s shoulders. Legolas doesn’t have to do a thing but drown in _pleasure_.

Rúmil is the first to fall. His arms tighten around Legolas’ middle, and his cry is loud and beautiful. His cock doesn’t still, but Legolas can feel the sudden swell of slickness inside him, and he loves every moment of it. Orophin finishes next, bursting in Legolas mouth, and it startles Legolas enough that he pulls back—only to have the rest splatter across his face. He closes his eyes in time and can feel it draping over his nose and running down his cheeks. The most lands on his tongue, which is good, because he can swallow it down. The feeling of that, of being drenched in another’s seed, is what pushes him over the edge for a second time; his eyes even well up as another orgasm tears through him. He slumps against Orophin’s crotch as his hips shake from the force of it, and then he shifts to crumble into Haldir.

Haldir comes last, filling Legolas up with a satisfied groan. Legolas takes it dazedly and appreciates the light kisses that Haldir scatters across his face, heedless of the mess there. Both Rúmil and Haldir remain inside him as he’s coming down. He clenches around them and holds them there, until the last remnants of the orgasm are gone and only exhaustion’s left. Then he whines and shifts, trying to pull off—but he doesn’t have the strength anymore, so both of them have to be the ones to pull out of him. It leaves him gaping open and dribbling into his rolled-down tights, the rest leaking out onto the wood of the talan. It feels like an incredibly hard surface now, at least against his abused cheeks. For a long moment, the four of them say nothing: just recovering.

Then Orophin murmurs, “Thank you for that, my friend. But I should have asked first before I joined you—what is your name?”

Haldir looks curious, and Rúmil must be as well. Now that Legolas has had his fun, he’s too tired to keep up the pretense, and he tells them, “Legolas. Of the Woodland Realm.”

Orophin nods without any comprehension. Rúmil doesn’t say anything, so maybe doesn’t recognize it either. But Haldir visibly thinks for a few seconds, before startling and laughing, “What a naughty princeling you are, _Legolas_.”

“Prince?” Rúmil mutters. “Oh... you would be Thranduil’s boy.”

Legolas corrects, “I am not a boy any longer, but a man—an elf, as all of you, here on my own terms.”

Orophin nods obligingly. Tucking himself back in, he takes a seat down next to them. There’s something comforting about being surrounded by the three of them—one guarding every side.

“We have trouble now, though,” Haldir muses, “for we can hardly present you to our lord and lady like this.”

Legolas lifts a hand to wipe at his own face. Orophin reaches out to join him, producing a cloth from under his cloak and tenderly wiping away the rest. Legolas will still need a good wash before he goes forward, but that’s a problem for the morning. He suggests, “I would be grateful if you would give me a bed for the night, and more so if you would be kind enough to help me bathe in the morning.”

Rúmil chuckles. Legolas imagines he’d be happy to do so. Orophin’s grin says the same.

Haldir nods his head and promises, “You will sleep with us, tonight and any other night you choose. And in the morning... we will take _very_ good care of you indeed.”


End file.
